


En Prise

by Accetric (Chiclets)



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Horror (Genre), Suspense (Genre)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-30
Updated: 2013-10-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 01:50:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/947196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiclets/pseuds/Accetric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With chess there's always two players whether they are known or concealed. So as they move their places the enemy captures the pawns. Run, run, little mechs and hide away from the uncapturable opponent. For they will take the pawns and never be taken in turn. Be careful not to be in a position to be captured for you will not return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 0200

**Author's Note:**

> What began as a challenge to do a genre I usually do not write. It sprung up and grew into a sizable fic to write. Not much mention or time spent on medical talk because it wasn't needed.

* * *

0200- Patrol Route

* * *

No one liked the night patrol. He could be anywhere but here in all honesty. Preferably in the Rec Room with a nice cube of energon watching everything that was going on after a long day of patrols and shifts. Instead, he got to take the _long_ route around Mt. Saint Hilary. He sunk down on his tires watching the landscape run past him. It was a warm night at least, with critters chirping and calling in the wild. The moon itself was dim- the stars speckled across the sky was a pleasant sight at least.

The moisture in the air was felt between all of his transformation seams, the last rain through this area has graced them with a lethargic feel in the air. Scuffling in the wooded area made his attention perk up from where he had simply zoned out and had been spotting all the moss on the moist bark of the trees. He slowed down cautiously, scanning far out to where the sound had originated from. A regular organic form registered, an elk rubbing his antlers against a branch in the otherwise still woodlands.

He sighed, he would have hoped that it was some fishy Decepticon activity. He chuckled quietly, the crackle of his tires going over gravel seemingly laughing along with him, the image of Decepticons being fish introducing itself to his processor. They'd be easier to handle at least. An angry grey fish floated past his imagination, the scowl the same match as ol' bucket head. He continued his still route through the woods, hoping to get back quickly. A ping from Red Alert for an update on his patrol made his attention come back to real life. And the road as he swerved, stopping in time to dodge a frozen deer. Primus, the wildlife was out to kill him.

He answered the comm. after sighing. He started driving once more, much slower than before- he ignored the pops of gravel between his tires and the dirt road he was on.

**/Hey Red Alert./** He grinned, smirking when Red Alert squawked into his audio. **/Don't just 'Hey Red Alert' me! You missed your last two updates! It's important to know that you aren't under attack!/**

For once he really wished he could roll his optics. One Decepticon attack had him strung up to the power lines. Or well, he was tightly wound he corrected himself. That power line thought really didn't make that much sense. They were taller than them. **/Yea, yea don't worry I'm fine. Oh wait!/** He sent a panicked frenzy of words at the Security mech. Red frantically asked him what, what was going on over there. **/I might die of boredom, send back up!/** He sunk lower on his tires as he grinned, waiting for Red Alert to reply. The line was dead for a moment and when the white lambo sent a reply he could practically see the scowl. **/Don't. Do that. Go back to your patrol./**

The comm. link went dead for awhile; he started lazily sending scanners across the woods as he passed them. He jumped with a start when Red Alert reactivated the comm. just to yell at him to remember to send updates back as they tracked his location. The link went dead for good after that. Silence permeated the air afterwards, the moon drifting in the sky with no rush to bring the daylight hours up once again. He noted some rather threatening looking moss collecting aggressively on a downed log.

_'HQ we're under heavy attack, send back up! Moss advancing in alarming rates. We don't stand a chance out here!.'_ It was dark times when he resorted to doing this. Dark times indeed. A pleasant feeling of being faintly amused brushed against him.

Really, there wasn't much to do on a night patrol. While other mechs were collecting in the rec room or other places for a good time before going into recharge he was out here. In the chill, with moisture collecting in his seams alone with no one to talk to. He sighed sending a quick ping of an update to the Ark. Dry hissing sounded and he curiously wondered what type of organic it was. It stopped for a good minute before it started once again this time in several skips and bursts. It sounded a lot closer than before. He sent out another scan. Nothing came back. Just pure empty wilderness. The crackling hiss sounded again. He sped up, kicking gravel up behind him into the muggy air.

Not even a mile down to road he heard it again- this time barely a whisper against his audios. Sliding into a turn he sent a ping back to the Ark, the jovial feeling in his spark not even pausing. He frowned though when he heard a snap- loud enough to startle an elk into running away. In the rustle of the plants and the cracks of fallen twigs and branches he felt a tug at his back left tire. He jumped, kicking his speed up. Going into another turn he cursed his luck. Alone on a patrol. At night. He usually wasn't bothered by this sort of thing. Though he usually didn't have annoying cackling hisses sounding off around him.

There was a tiny drop of ill ease now nestled into his spark. It conflicted heartily with the amusement emanating. He sped up once more jerkily when another brush came upon him. Turning tightly into yet another turn and sending another scan. Nothing. Again. It wasn't his processor acting up, was it? He didn't have damage to his sensor relays. His engine roared into another jump when a crackling, ringing sound emanated from behind him once more. Slag it all. He wasn't imagining this. Just when the series of turns pop up, too. Transforming quickly he pressed his knees into the gravel, a hand coming down to help him balance as well. Bright blue optics flickered around. There was nothing. Completely empty. Not even a small organic scurrying about.

Glancing around didn't reveal anything either. When had his venting become so quick? He wasn't sure. He wasn't really sure he wanted to know. He glanced about once more. Not even a fern out of place. Transforming back into his alt mode he took off. Going into another turn in a mess drift he sent another ping back to the Ark. Clouds had gathered above him. The grey dingy clouds promised more rain. They also blocked any light he'd get from the stars as well. Not that it mattered. A tug at both of his tires. A scrape down his right quarter panel. Another scan revealed the same results. He sped through another turn- a cloud of dust left in his wake.

Frag all he wanted was to get to the Ark. Get this patrol over with. A questioning tug. Primus when had he started panicking. This wasn't good. He'd get teased. Big mech scared pantless. Well, if he had pants. His engine roared when heavier, more painful scratch came upon him once more. What the frag? It'd been over a mile. What was tailing him still? He never liked this area. Wasn't sure why Hound did. Yet again, a powerful surge to his engine. If there was a human in him they would have pressed back into his seats. Skidding into a 'S' turn he cursed. He was going fast. Way too fast. He skidded right off the turn into the woods down an embankment. He transformed as quick as lightning. Why was he so worked up? Primus was that a chuckle. Where the frag..?

Crashing into a tree trunk his spinal plating screamed at him. He flicked his helm around and about, one of his servos brushing the very real scratches. Panic encompassed him. What had happened to all his training? Oh yea, they never said anything about things they couldn't see. He gave a shuddering ex vent. He started backing up. The tree had fallen with an angry and resounding boom. He stumbled back over the wide trunk. He brought his servos up, fisting them. A snap to his left. His helm darted that way. Nothing. Empty. The same emptiness as everything. If everything was empty then what the frag was going on?

With a stumble he walked backwards. He sent scan after scan around him. Why did sound seem so heavy right now? He couldn't hear anything over his own vents. He brought one of his servos higher, he'd be ready to strike. The coarseness of a splintered tree dug into his back plates. Quickly he sent ping after ping to the Ark. he wasn't crazy. His processor wasn't messing with him. He had the injuries to prove it. He whirled in a circle. Optics almost over bright from the power he was sending to them in the dark. Something ran down one of his legs. A scream caught in his throat. He jerked away from the tree he had been pressed against. Whipping a blaster out of subspace he pointed it shakily. The hadn't been anything behind him. No movement. None at all.

What the frag was going on? Belatedly he realized he was whimpering. Not good. Ping after ping bombarded the Ark, so why wasn't Red Alert answering? He turned to run only to crash down to the wet floor. Leaves stuck to him, twigs found their ways into his plating. He shot a stray shot into the air. Had that been an amused laugh? Oh Primus he hoped not. Scrambling onto his feet a branch from a neighboring tree rammed into his helm. He shot two more rounds off, clamoring to get to the road. His pedes caught and he pummeled to the ground. His vents were caught from their scared influx. Swinging an arm out wildly as he turned he screamed. He screamed and kicked in an attempt to get away. Full bloomed terror spun his spark. Firing off another volley of shots he realized that they all missed.

Wrenching his arm back he threw his blaster instead. His spark felt like it was about to explode. He scrambled backwards. Clawing to get the the road. Where was backup? Anyone would do. Just. He choked out a sob. He really wished he could cry. He dug dirt up, leaves coming up with it. Coldness rested on his pedes. "Please," he shrieked. Whatever it was. The chill spread to his thighs. He struggled. His engine thrummed and rumbled. One of his servos grabbed part of the fallen tree. Right when he was about to pull himself forward he was flipped over. A rough scream came out of his throat. Unadulterated fear was the only thing he was really sure of. Gleaming yellow turned to slits. It was smiling. Whatever it was, it was smiling at him.

Another shriek. Cold spread once more. Upwards it trailed. Upwards and upwards, inch by inch. Desperately he tried to move once more. He was a wreck. A shivering, aching, terrified wreck. he screamed loudly and wailed with all his might. The pings sent to the Ark came to a stop. Birds nesting in the forest a mile away took off in surprise. Then, stillness and silence.

* * *

0200- Rec Room

* * *

Sunstreaker sighed into his cube. Swirling the pink contents he took another sip. He was just appreciative of the fact that he was the one that could be sitting in the warm haze of the Ark's lights. Calm chatter floated in the air while Jazz and Blaster seemed to be making it a karaoke night. The black and white mech has currently dancing along to a bass rhythm while Blaster relaxed into it. A saxophone began and Jazz grinned.

"She'll only come out at night," He sang, doing a simple dance.

Sunstreaker smiled gently as he watched the friendly TIC perform the song.

"The lean and hungry type!" Blaster belted out as he bobbed his helm up and down in time with the beat.

The golden twin sent a pulse of amusement to his twin. Sighing, he relaxed into his seat to watch the two mechs. Laziness came from his twin. Jazz spun, grinning at Ironhide as he watched as well. He tugged Blaster upwards, settling an arm across his shoulders.

Gently swallowing a mouthful of energon he rested the now empty cube on the table. Curiously he paid a bit more attention to his twin spark, a jolt of shock leaking through to him. The two mechs singing and dancing continued uninterrupted. He picked the empty cube up, lazily examining it in boredom. He smirked when Jazz came to the chorus and did a series of hand gestures to get Blaster to dance more.

"Ooh here she comes!" Blaster came in without hesitation, "Watch out boy she'll chew you up!"

Sunstreaker's smirk faded though when the shock turned into fear. He stiffened, paying more attention to the bond.

Something wasn't right. He sent a quick comm. to Red Alert questioningly. Sideswipe was sending regular updates at least and if so... nothing seriously wrong was happening, right? He turned back to the show hesitantly. Jazz came in once again to sing the same line. Earth songs tended to repeat a lot, he mused staring hard at Jazz. If something was wrong and if Sideswipe pinged them a request for help the TIC wouldn't be so happy. Right? Blaster leaned into a twirl,

"She's a maneater!"

The moment those words were belted out a shock of fear came from Sideswipe. The empty energon cube fell from between his fingers from the surprise of the emotion. He pinged Red Alert; another wave of fear coming.

He stilled, when a beat of quiet settled between the two of them. It startled him when a spurt of fear came and never left. Raising himself up from his seat in a flurry of movement he tried to get to the door. Growling at a mech who didn't move fast enough he lurched and leaned onto a wall for support. A sputter came from his vents as a huge wave of utter terror filled him. He clawed to get to his legs once more only to be hammered with terror once more. He growled, sending a comm. to Red Alert. Hunching his shoulders he tried to make it to the door again. He wasn't even aware of the music coming to a startled stop until Jazz grabbed him and helped straighten him up.

"Are you okay mech?" He asked concerned.

Sunstreaker's optics were wide, spiraled open as far as they could go as it was. He jerked in his grip, his field echoing strangely. Any remnants of a smile faded into a serious flat expression.

"Come on, we're getting you to Ratchet." He tugged at the gold frontliner gently trying to coax him from the death grip he had on the wall. Terror filled even his side of the bond and Sunstreaker tried once more to get to the door that lead to the hall.

"Mech?" His muddled processor popped out of the torrent of emotion. He grit his denta, hissing out a scream and growled out his twin's name.

Floundering once more he spasmed, all of his input coming in shorted out. He screamed, the panicked terror that was emanating from Sideswipe dominating everything. He reached out for the door once more, his knees buckling underneath his dead weight. Jazz's faceplates turned alarmed, and he sent his own question to Red Alert about what was going on with the red twin. The reply was a quick reply that no updates or notifications to his location was coming at all. The last one had been several minutes ago. Sunstreaker's vents stuttered to a halt, his body locking up, optics stared wide and unseeing in front of him. his faceplates were twisted into a scream, olfactory sensor scrunched up as well. He fell silent and eerily still. Jazz heaved his frame upwards and called for Ironhide to help carry the heavier mech to the Med Bay.

With his lips set in a grim line he sent a message to Prowl. Something happened to Sideswipe. Something terrifying judging from the way Sunstreaker had shrieked. With quick order, a party of mechs went off following the trail of Sideswipe. The priority came to Ratchet first, the moment his optics fell on the frozen twin he'd cursed and ordered them to lay him out.

Ratchet scanned his frame, as it twitched every few seconds and he vented heavily.

"Mech was just sitting there until he just got up and he was struggling to get to the door." Jazz paused, watching as Ratchet examined him, the white and red mech cursing when a terrible result came back from Sunstreaker's spark.

"What the frag happened out there?" He hissed, already getting ready to pop his chest plates open.

"Sunstreaker said something about his brother," Jazz said unhelpfully. His jovial mood was completely faded into business.

"First Aid," Ratchet yelled into his comm. unit. The sparklight shimmering from Sunstreaker's retracting chest plating was coming in pulses. The spark surged only to dim until a bare flicker. Angry optics came up to meet Jazz's visor. He took the hint and slipped out of the Med Bay. Nearly bowling over the second medic who had come running down the hall from his private quarters the Third in Command started making his way to where Red Alert was. Ratchet quickly set First Aid about to work as soon as he stepped through the door. The pulsating spark beneath their servos the most important thing at the moment.

First Aid jumped, a spark in such conditioned never was a good sign. He steeled himself, pulling out the necessary equipment. He handed it to Ratchet, who quickly covered the exposed spark, the spark chamber cover open, and cursed as a jolt of energy caused the warrior's spark to level out. Only for it to gutter once more into a shaky mess of energy.

Over and over Ratchet tried to keep his spark level. It continually continued to sputter about. First Aid flinched when he heard Ratchet mutter a prayer to Primus. He set the voltage higher a nick. Sunstreaker's spark had settled on a dim, but steady pulse. Suddenly it surged, gracing them with bright light directly in the faceplates only to fall dimmer once again. The golden mech's spark had settled at least. It was not in any danger of guttering out anymore. His spark lacked the luster it had once before, but Ratchet had stilled his servos, his shoulder falling down in relief. They had stabilized him at least. Sideswipe on the other hand, Ratchet thought, staring hard at the one twins spark. It was always Sideswipe.


	2. 0600

* * *

0600- Med Bay

* * *

He was in the dark. He floated about only to sink once more. He reached upwards- or was it downwards- he wasn't sure. Everything was so quiet here. When he looked about the pitch blackness swallowed everything around him. He sighed, only to freeze as feedback came to him. He jerked- dear Primus the pain he was feeling, and flicked his optics off. A second later he flicked them back on once more; light blinded him as his vents heaved in air to cool his systems and lines and the remnants of the fear finally rolling away. He slowly sat upwards, venting heavily to cool his heated insides and look about the room. Orange. Sanitary. Hard flat berth. He was in the Med Bay. He shuttered his optics and cupped his servos over his faceplate. As he rocked back and forth he ex-vented a shuddering measure of air. Why was he running so hotly right when he woke up?

Shivering, he threw his legs off the side of the berth. Looking around dazed he tried to catch sight of Ratchet. He only had a view to the immediate area however, but it was empty as far as he could tell. Though that really didn't mean much because medics tended to pop up out of nowhere. Shaking his helm he tried to remember what was going on.

All he could remember was the pure unadulterated fear that had laced his spark and shook him beyond control. He shivered at the thought and noticed that he had several lines hooked to his arm, slipping through gaps in armor and trailing to a monitor. He shook his helm and stood up- grasping the berth hard when his struts went weak, and tore the lines out from between his armor. Walking disoriented through the Med Bay thanks to the thick fuzz in his vision, using other berths and any sturdy surface to help keep him stable. Faint murmurs came from the direction of the storage bay.

He bit his lip- glancing at the exit door where his spark was tugging him to follow. If he could just get out of here with out alerting anyone. He hobbled out two steps only to fall to his knees with a punctuating slam, knee guards ground into the floor taking paint flecks in vengeance. The hollowness from below the floor panels echoed oddly at the amount of heavily armored mech dropped onto it. A sharp pang of hurt had hit him. His vision blurred further, and he dug his fingers on the berth he had been using for support so hard dents and grooves formed.

The bang of his knees hitting the floor tiles alerted the other occupants of the room and the furious whispering came to a complete halt.

In the silence he shook his helm and shuttered his optics in an attempt to get the static behind them to deteriorate. Wrenching more strength onto the steady berth he tried to pull himself to his pedes. The edges of his knee guards pinching his joint from where he had landed up more force on the outer edge of the protective metal stopped him from fully standing. The crinkled metal caught on an energon line.

Spitting out a curse he opened his optics to see a set of berths blocking his way. Visual sensors weren't working fully; the odd doppelganger of the berth went out of focus fractionally.

White servos wrenched him up a second later, wincing he held his leg in a strange angle, and soon he was faceplate to faceplate with an angry CMO.

"Where the _frag_  do you think you're going?" The shorter mech pulled him to his berth, the frontliner reeling from the sudden movements.

He was shoved onto the berth roughly and the medic already began working on reconnecting the wires to his lines.

"What's going on?" He tried to ask. Only it came out slurred. Instead he tried bending his neck back to look at where the storage bay was, sourly wondering who all had stopped his slow escape. The tall figure of Optimus stood there watching him with concerned optics. Prowl stood next to him with his doorwings rigid and staring hard at Red Alert who was avoiding optic contact. Ironhide was leaning up against the side paneling of the door watching the door next to him intently.

They had a certain air of something he had seen many times. Many, many times throughout his life. He understood what was going on vaguely in his incoherent processor.

Quickly, he brought his more solid feeling legs up and kicked Ratchet back. The medic was tossed back a few feet, scowling at him from where he landed on his aft.

When he got up his hip plating struck the edge of a nearby berth. The CMO had gotten up and tried to grab him before he could move anymore. Ratchet growled at him to stop, but he was ignored. Fixated on the storage bay he pulled any reconnected wires out once more- ignoring the dull ache starting to form, and heaved himself onto his pede. His other leg locked. He dodged a swipe from Ratchet, ducking out of it defensive programs overriding his muddled processor and glitching optic sensors. Ratchet hooked a grip in the middle one of his arms, fingers gaining a foothold in gaps- coming up to try and still his more powerful form. Pulling himself from the grip once more he stepped forward trembling.

The commotion drew Ironhide's attention up once more. Uncrossing his arm he stepped forward and pushed the frontliner back on his shoulders.

"You don't want to go in there kid, trust me."

The old mech looked past him to Ratchet. The forntliner growled, unhappy at the comment. Pulling an arm back he struck the weapon's specialist. Optimus laid a servo on Ironhide's shoulder to calm him. Not that he needed any calming. He dully noted that Ironhide had just looked away when he demanded him to move. Prowl did nothing, sitting quietly in front of the control panel of the storage bay. He slurred out another command- thick static clinging to his vocalizations.

Ironhide pulled him struggling to a berth. In the state he was in he lashed out, reaching under a side plate and clenching some of the wires underneath. With a welp Ironhide dropped his grip and whirled around yelling at Ratchet to get the sedatives ready already. He drew a fist back and punched the red minivan, launching himself at the door. The palm of his servo ran down the control panel for a moment, fingers hooked onto the control panel not wanting to let go, until Prowl caught him with a steely grip. The tactician didn't say anything however, just silently held him in a stone hold. His processor swam through a thick hazy, the gooey stickiness collecting on every detail.

He honestly could have been frothing from the mouth if he was able to.

Slurred and meshed together yells echoed in the Med Bay. He clawed at the door as it slid open, yelling as loud he could just to let him go. The handle Ironhide had on him did not budge however as he was passed to the red mech. He lurched in attempts to get out of the grip; his vocalizer sore from the over use. It was a tug of war to get him away from the door that Prowl had keyed to close.

It was too late though. He'd seen what was behind it. A sharp prick to his neck cables had him freezing for a moment.

Ratchet pulled the empty syringe away; staring at him grimly. The edges of his field of vision grew dark as he slid offline. He looked up at Ironhide's diverted face in betrayal. He heard the crisp apologies from Prowl for the incident. Optimus was watching the door. Ratchet looked at him with a frown as he was placed on a berth.

His world shut down as he entered medical stasis once more. His spark ached.


	3. 0300

* * *

0300- Patrol Route

* * *

Here the fog was thick and heavy in the early AM hours. A human would only be able to see so far through the white wisps of low hanging clouds until only dark grey forms of trees were the only thing noticeable. While the suspended water droplets would impair a regular organics eyes the group of Cybertronians pacing the road did not have that problem.

They had a different problem, one that no one ever enjoyed thinking of. One of their own was missing and their personal hailing frequency was not responding to any amount of pinging. Prowl supposed that was why the other members in this team were so muted. Decepticon attack on their own patrol route was worrisome any time. But now, a Decepticon attack on one of their lesser used patrol routes on a sturdy frontliner who had time and time again proven to be able to live through anything? It caused everyone to become extremely anxious. There wasn't anything really special about this area since it was only patrolled a few times just for the sake of keeping Red Alert calm. It was too far away and it wasn't much of a way for enemies to get closer to the Autobot base.

There were too many obstacles to go through, another more modern route on another more time saving road was placed along the base of this section of road, cut into the land. A cadre of Autobots going about their day outside always were watchful to respond if the alarm went off or if the sentries spotted activity coming toward their base. Right now the chance of a head on attack was slim to none. At least as long as the Decepticons didn't become more unhinged for the most part.

But, the question begged to be asked, why an attack on a single patrol member? Granted the fact that there was a possibility that they'd be down two warriors that had terrorized the ranks of the opposing army was a very real possibility why, Prowl didn't really want to think about it. Not yet. He really should stop thinking about why now and wait until he saw what really happened. Even if the attack really was out of the blue as dozens of other times mechs of similar caliber had come on this route.

Prowl crept along the empty patrol route. These series of turns had been where the pings had ended an Earth hour ago. His headlights turned up higher as the SIC glance over to the rest of the party. Ironhide had one of his blasters out and ready carefully glancing around the seemingly empty woods. The humidity in the air hung closely to everything. Cliffjumper grumbled as he looked around in search of a Decepticon that had possibly stayed behind.

The doorwings on his back fluttered as something caused an atmospheric change from behind him. Tightening his grip on his rifle the black and white mech narrowed his optics. He turned- acid pellets already loaded- only to see nothing. Prowl stared at the emptiness behind him for klik wondering what had caused his doorwings to send him false information. Perhaps a visit to Ratchet might be necessary to correct any small errors or recalibrate it as needed. Silently he returned to studying the road, storing the reminder to visit the Med Bay away.

He walked down the gravel road mindful of the other mechs following him. For the most part everything seemed normal. Nothing was out of place. At least until he came to where long lines of fresh earth showed through the duller gravel that usually laid above it. On either side of the lines were small mounds of gravel that had been pushed out of the way revealing bold red dirt. As he continued examining the skid marks from where Sideswipe had possibly transformed at a high speed, the ex-enforcer realized that the smaller lines matched up to the general width of Sideswipes fingers.

Tire tracks that had been taken note of earlier curved to the left of the road. Raising an optic ridge Prowl mapped out the actions of the red mech. There was no left over scorch marks of laser fire or anything even remotely telling of weaponry on the road and as he glanced over the nearby trees framing the road he confirmed that there wasn't anything of note at all. Not even an extra set of tracks that could somehow connect the Stunticons or any other ground bound mech to the scene.

Tracking the skids of knees coming down and dragging he wondered what had caused Sideswipe to do such actions. At a high speed to cause such distinct drag no less. His pedes crunched down on the road as he scanned the road to follow the tracks.

There was something minor that was also of note. It was completely silent out here. Not even a spare bird out early. While it didn't seem that odd, Trailbreaker himself who had been saddled with this road other times had commented on it in the beginning. It was odd to a mech experienced with nature. Prowl took note, just in case anything else strange was noticed.

The rest of the team trailed behind him with their blasters raised. They were on their guard even more once they each studied the skid marks and looked around alertly. Chances of a stray Decepticon after such an attack was slim, but it was better to be safe and to keep a sharp look out. Ironhide rolled one of his shoulders, grumbling as he followed with heavy footsteps.

Prowl refocused on the road ahead of them. Whatever Sideswipe had done after the skids he had transformed back into his alt mode eventually. The Praxian took in the remnants of a drift around a particular turn farther ahead. With bright optics he walked the curved part of the road, sensors detecting faint traces of dust that had not settled yet, tracing the grooves of tires paths in the dirt with his optics.

Raising his helm to look further down the road he stared at the second turn. Sideswipe had obviously kicked up his speed as thicker sprays of kicked up gravel was evident. Trailbreaker stood still off to his left- possibly staring at the marks questioningly. Questioningly indeed. What had happened? What had unfolded here in some sick mess of a story to be figured out?

Walking faster down the road they came to an 'S' turn that was tightly curved. No one liked this particular turn except for mechs who enjoyed slowing down dramatically. It seemed fate was not on Sideswipes side this time however as the marks of a speeding racer slipped from safety to the depths of an embankment.

They stood at the edge of the lip, looking down into dark foliage. For a moment they were silent. When Cliffjumper, who had slipped into a ill-boding silence, shifted his weight to snap a tree branch caught under his pedes they got back to business.

Dialing his headlights up higher Prowl saw the tell tale signs of someone slipping off the road into the bramble below. It wasn't a steep edge, but steep enough that someone could get marginally banged up if they fell off it at a high speed. That was something which Sideswipe had done here an hour ago, Prowl noted.

He motioned for the other bots to follow him as he crouched low and went over the edge. When he landed his wings splayed out for balance as he froze for a second low to the ground. Here the signs of up kicked leaves told them they were indeed on the right path.

Slick wetness had him grabbing a tree for a quick hold when he tried to take a step too quickly. The rain had left this area wet even after it happening a while ago. Damp footholds meant that they would have to be cautious as they walked about. One wrong step could mean landing on their backs staring up into the fog covered night sky. Distantly the heavy sounds of other bots dropping into the forested area met his audios.

Calmly he glanced to a tree trunk that had been smashed. Red flecks of paint dotted the surface and shined brightly under the light. Later on he wouldn't be sure if he hadn't coldly reminded himself to be professional. Find any survivors then get out. He glanced over the trunk- moist wood expanded like a sponge and Prowl wondered if that was a bit of energon along a thin groove dripping downwards thickly.

Ironhide grumbled and stalked up next to him. The old mech told him that his sensors registered that something was up ahead. Prowl dipped his helm in acknowledgement that he heard him. His own doorwings and sensors had provided him with that tidbit of information a few paces back however. Ice cold optics tracked the frantic footsteps Sideswipe had taken.

Vaguely he could imagine Sideswipe walking quickly, backplates hurting, and looking at his attacker or attackers while trying to escape. Optics spiraled wide and so badly off guard. Prowl wondered why the experienced frontliner hadn't easily slipped into the defensive or offensive to fight. The ex-Enforcer made a note of the out of character behavior. Imaginary red war grade armor spun in a circle as Prowl saw a set of prints that could only have been made that way.

An exclamation from Ironhide had him looking up. And forward. A trunk sat there cheerfully, the resent break evident by the still splintered base. Several sections of outer bark jutted out dangerously.

The actual fallen tree trunk was resting on the ground away from them at a slight angle. He shined light upwards. Several scorch marks from wayward blaster shots formed a ring around the fallen tree. The markers of a fight spurred him forward. Several twigs broke under his weight and a huff from Ironhide accompanied him. Cliffjumper trailed behind, Trailbreaker next to him with his heavier frame stopping him from walking too quickly.

When light shined across the fallen tree trunk it shined with wetness. Red color nanites that had been scraped off armor covered a portion of it as well. They were on a section high up as if Sideswipe had been the one to knock it down. Sideswipe had most likely then brushed against it once more- another section of paint decorated it, much closer to the base this time. Energon splatters dotted it up and down and leaves that were caught underneath cupped fallen mech fluid in puddles in each leaf like shallow basins. There were chunks tore out of it, some of the gouges going as deep as the sapwood inside, as well as small slices only going as deep as the inner bark. Prowl looked away for a moment when he realized that liquid from their cooling lines were decorating the outer bark and had slipped between the slices.

Debris were unsettled; dark dirt underneath showed the general size of pedes. Clutches of fallen organic material closer to them- closer to the road- were also irritated. It was if servos had grabbed and dug into the earth. Prowl's helm swiveled as he took in the forest floor, committing everything to memory. It wasn't until Ironhide exclaimed that he looked up from his examination.

The other mech had gone forward in the silence of Prowl's inspection. The weapon master's headlights were dialed up so brightly compared to all of theirs. Shines came from the floor and Prowl steeled himself before going forward. A much larger trail of spilled energon was here. Scraps of armor rended from Sideswipe littered the floor. A nearby tree trunk was scarred with desperate clutches of servos. An entire quarter panel was tossed aside. Up ahead a sight made him freeze only for a second.

He took a step forward. Doorwings stiff on his back. An arc of energon spray shined across the trees here. In his distraction his pede dipped into a puddle of coolant. He jerked back, grimacing as he saw the blue coolant dribbling down his pede. A cut was in the tree next to him, mech fluid leaking out of it as well. There was so much of it; it graced them sickeningly. Splatters dotted almost any surface it could land. A piece of shoulder armor was the next thing he saw, droplets of energon slowly dripped from it as well. Cliffjumper gasped, and the barrel of his blaster dropped severely towards the ground.

A large form was propped up against a tree several feet away from them. Prowl stepped forward, side stepping any fluid he saw upon the ground. He dropped down whispering the designation in disbelief. The form didn't even twitch. He gently pulled it backwards. All the weight slipped from his fingers however, and energon sprayed across his faceplates. He shuttered his optics and turned his faceplate away. Clenching his free fist he schooled his features. Un-shuttering them he examined to frame.

Color nanites had long turned grey. Any lustrous color that had once been was no more. The gore however that took front and center compared to the grey armor had Cliffjumper and Trailbreaker turning away.

There was an energon line that had been slit on the mech's neck. Apparently the fast motion of turning the frame had been enough to release the pressure that had built up in it. Sideswipe's faceplate was damaged; an optic had been torn out. The enemy must have gotten a finger hold underneath a gap. A small portion of his faceplate was dented upwards.

Prowl frowned tightly. He was missing his entire chest plate. A mixture of coolant and energon was pooling from punctured lines inside his chest cavity. Claps and locks were broken and smashed from when they had not let his chest plate open easily.

For a moment he had to look away. Business however spurred him on from not turning away. After so much war there was no reason to react this way. It was just another frame.

An arm that had flung outward from the disturbance from the frame's original position was the closest thing to him. The half clenched servo was only a few inches from his pedes. The frame had put up a fight, the entire knuckle protecting armor piece that was usually only marginally scratched from fist fights was thoroughly smashed. The armor itself was bent and crinkled. Congealed energon was stippled on it. Small joints and wires that would have otherwise been hidden were able to be observed.

For a second Prowl looked upwards, watching the backs of Cliffjumer and Trailbreaker. Such a sight was not uncommon with the days of war, however the sight of a… usually joyous frame sprawled across the floor in a forgotten part of a damp forest was a hard thing to take in. He stopped himself from letting his doorwings falter.

The armor that protected the upper left arm was completely gone. Leaning down closer to get a better look at it Prowl observed small v-shaped gouges in the protoform underneath. A small section of paint transfer was barely seen on the already silver protoform.

Small cracks caught his eye on forearm plating. Gently, he lifted the arm upwards from the folded position it was in. Underneath he saw spider web cracks, where something exceptionally hard hit. Energon sat between each crack. This was armor built for battle and tough conditions and he denied himself the feeling of confusion. He set the arm back down to its original position and continued to examine the rest of the frame.

The left half, which was closest to him, had considerably less surface damage. Little to no armor portions were missing on the left while the right side had entire panels ripped off. There were no blaster scorches to be seen however.

His left hip joint looked out of line- it jutted outwards and laid much higher than normal- perhaps from a hard landing. Prowl tilted his helm so he could see farther ahead of him. Patches of leaves and twigs were matted down under heavy pressure so perhaps that theory worked.

Most of the damage was centralized around the upper body areas and was bathed in served lines, energon everywhere and coolant mixed in. One had to wonder how much was actually left in the pump and fuel lines. The large majority of the leaked fluids was already congealed, and drying up.

Most of the spray was of small elongated droplets, hitting the surrounding at an angle. The pool of mech blood underneath the frame was already becoming sticky- a white forefinger touched the edge of the pool and lifted upwards. Energon gathered on his finger and held to the white metal before finally separating from the main source. The pad of his finger still had a rather thick coating.

He puffed air out of his vents in a sigh and stood up. There was nothing they could do for Sideswipe here. From the looks of the sky it seemed like it would begin raining soon; they had to move quickly then. He opened up a comm. link to Optimus, looking at the other mechs standing morosely.

Suddenly he froze, doorwings flickering minutely in surprise. Turning around at the trees across from where he stood he titled his helm curiously. Readings of something behind there had come from nowhere and he prioritized going to Ratchet.

Turning his attention back to the comm. link he told him that they were about to return. After a slight pause he requested that the halls be cleared, it would be preferable for a lockdown even to keep any wayward mechs inside rooms. Glancing at the mangled frame on the floor that once held a rather outgoing personality Prowl stopped himself for a moment. _/It would be in the best interest of all parties if transport could be granted to us. I would request Ratchet to come, but I am aware that the medics are busy with Sunstreaker. /_

An uncomfortable silence followed after for a klik. / _ **I'll be there shortly./**_

Prowl looked back over his shoulder as another read out of something behind him came back to him.  _/We are off the road. I will send Cliffjumper and Trailbreaker to await you./_

With that he closed the comm. link, and began walking towards the trees. Rounding a large trunk he frowned. There was indeed a false reading. He ex-vented softly and took a step forward. Only to jerk his leg upwards after stepping on something that did not belong. Looking down he cringed, a shard of armor from Sideswipe's leg was there.

The black and white mech turned around and went back to Ironhide. Together they silently waiting and watched.

* * *

0300- Security Hub

* * *

"I already told you!" Red Alert threw his servos up, optics spiraled wide and looked at the exit of the Security Hub before darting glances back at the wall of monitors. He shifted in his chair as he stared up at Jazz.

"There should have been no reason for communications to fall out. I was still getting updates from the other patrol teams." The Security Director reiterated, "I thought he was just lost interest in sending me updates. It's happened before and there really isn't anything I could do to make him."

Jazz's expression didn't change, but the clear impression of disappointment made Red Alert shift once more in his chair. His helm tilted to the side, his lips pursed as he moved a step over to block the exit. He stared down at Red Alert from behind his visor and gave a thought to crouching.

"Mech you didn't even try to contact Sideswipe?" Jazz questioned, resting a hand on a control panel.

"Why would I have bothered?" The red and white mech asked, shaking his helm no and looked between Jazz's midsection and arm at the now obscured doorway.

He puffed a vent of air out with force, "Sideswipe didn't want to respond to me even before communication to the hellion dropped out! I thought he was just being an annoying miscreant like usual. I was in the middle of filling out a complaint to send to Prowl."

As he was explaining, he pulled up the incomplete file to send to the TiC. It was indeed what he said it was: the last edit had been a few seconds before Jazz had entered the Hub and demanded to know what had happened to Sideswipe.

In the silence that followed his review of the document Red Alert shifted closer to the monitors.

He looked downwards at the floor as Jazz started speaking, "You should have been paying attention and should have been trying to make contact with him. Mech, you usually aren't like this."

This was not the best thing to say to the frustrated mech as he leapt out of the chair and jabbed a finger into Jazz's chest plates.

"It's my job to make sure everyone is safe," He yelled- blue sparks fritzed off the top of his sensory arrays atop his helm. "It's my fault I know."

Red Alert pulled his servos up to his faceplate and scrubbed them down it from frustration. "I couldn't do anything about it though! Did you see have far down Prowl and his team went?" Here he stabbed a finger at the display map that was tracking the back up team.

"I lost connection with him all the way here," He pointed at a straight part of the road. "He vanished from the map completely after a few seconds that communications dropped out. I had been corresponding with Hound and Mirage- who were on the southern trail- while filling out the report. I hadn't even noticed him disappearing."

Jazz held up a servo to halt the flurry of words spewing from Red Alert's mouth. Behind his visor, he raised an optic ridge in interest.

"Slow down my mech," He looked at the display map. Small red dots moved as Mirage and Hound grew closer to the ARK around a bend. "You mean he dropped off the map completely? Did you see any Decepticon tracks on it when you reviewed it?"

While Jazz had been speaking Red Alert had been prattling on. At the mention of Decepticons he shrieked, straightened out to attention and looked as if he was dealing with incompatible input. He quickly folded back into the chair that had been forgotten behind him.

Moments later he was leaning over the controls, replaying old markings of the map. Patrol routes went backwards for Hound and Mirage, but almost an hour back a new bright red blip marked 'Sideswipe' reappeared. Red Alert slowly let it play forwards as both Jazz and he watched closely for any signs of Decepticon activity.

Uncomfortable silence echoed in the now silent Security Hub. There was no frantic talking, words spilling from mouths or thinly strung commands to keep calm. Jazz slowly looked down at Red Alert as the mech did the same thing, rolling his helm upwards to look at the saboteur. Optics that had arguably seemed impossible to open wider did the impossible and went even wider. Two turquoise colored optics stared up at a sky blue visor. Red Alert's sensory horns sparked as a pained expression took hold on his face.

As one they turned back to the map. Together they stayed where they were frozen down to the smallest iota. There was a quiet agreement that didn't need to be said. They were going to have to notify Optimus and quickly at that.

Jazz pressed his comm. link on, sent a short message, and waited. Thankfully, the commotion that had spread through the Rec Room from the sight of Sunstreaker being dragged out had traveled to their Prime. He was already en route, though if he was irked that he seemed to be the last to find out from being off duty these early hours and locked in his berth room he didn't sound it. He strode with purpose into the quiet Hub and came to a halt, staring at the same patrol map that was still up.

He looked at his two officers questioningly, "What has happened?"

Jazz looked quietly down at his fingers, the small intertwined parts suddenly fascinating as he decided how to string the words together. He would have been guiltier of hiding some of the smaller facts, but it wasn't like Spec Ops hadn't kept their own secrets from him. Flexing his fingers, Jazz brought his hand down and leveled his gaze with his Prime.

"As you already know Boss Bot, we got Sunstreaker held up in the Med Bay with both Ratchet and First Aid attending to him. At approximately 0200 we lost all contact with Sideswipe when he was around here," Jazz took a moment to point at the blank map before continuing. "We're waiting for word from the back up team Prowl lead out on what happened. Ratchet says that Sunstreaker is stable and that we should be, as he said, "praising the frag out of Primus" that they could keep his spark with us."

"Do we have any idea what might have happened?" Optimus asked as he inspected the location of the signal disruption. Red Alert crossed his arms over his chest plate, apparently calmed down enough to take a hold into the conversation.

He held up a finger, and looked at the bigger mech. "One solid idea so far. Actually there's only one real reason that is acceptable at all really. It was obviously a Decepticon attack; they somehow knew that my sensory net was having problems over there. They had to have; there'd be no other explanation. I'm not sure why they attacked Sideswipe though, what could they gain from attacking a lone patrolman? Well…"

Here he fell silent, curling a finger under his mouth and stared intensely at the space of flooring between the two standing bots pedes. He seemed to arrive at an uncomfortable revelation and the two other bots weren't far behind in connecting the dots.

"It's well known that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are split-sparked twins. The last time we encountered the Decepticons didn't they take Ramjet out of commission completely? It's not like the Coneheads, or any of the Seekers, to keep a vendetta up outside of the battlefield though. Maybe they decided to finally try and make sure that the two frontliners would be gone?"

His voice trailed off in the end and he glanced upwards at the two higher ranked Autobots. It probably was not the best way to say it, but it was a good possibility. It was a safe bet that the Decepticons had decided to attack Sideswipe who had his guard down. The earthen saying summarized it completely, 'kill two birds with one stone', or in this case perhaps a blaster.

"There's always the possibility that he is in a firefight, correct?" Optimus asked after a decidedly awkward klik of thought. "We have not heard anything from Prowl's team so far." He pointed that little piece of information optimistically. He watched his officers, minutely unwilling to accept that there was only one result. Red Alert stared hard at the map and the wall of video displays in front of him.

"With all due respect sir," the mech began, "We already have one half of our best offense laid up in the Med Bay after his spark almost joined the Matrix. Sideswipe being alive would not have caused such a radical effect on Sunstreaker's spark."

What was that? Was that an opposition from the glimmer of hope that the Prime held above everything else at this time? Jazz watched silently as Optimus saw that cold reasoning and raised it a past experience.

"While that is true, there has been multiple times where one of the Twins sparks became weakened from exposure of atmospheric conditions no spark should be in. They feel each other strongly, and you cannot just ignore the times where one has fallen and pulled the other with." The spiritual leader looked at his officers quietly, studying them as he crossed his arms over his chest plating.

Sufficient chastising and the obligatory 'I am disappointed in you' look was not ignored, Jazz thought dryly. Behind his visor his optics watched as Red Alert busied himself with making sure Brawn fixed sensory node 204. With so few mechs around, the thought of loosing not just another soldier, but a mech who everyone knew and many considered a friend wasn't a welcomed thought. No one wanted to really think about it.

Least of all Optimus who felt keeping everyone safe was his sole responsibility. The conscious backlash of guilt of taking the small hours he had took off would eat at him if Jazz was correct. And Jazz was always correct. The small dark smudges from missions and decisions not going correctly were blotted out. No one would need to know of them.

While Optimus was first and foremost a mech who still held candles for hope, it was in his nature to refuse to believe a mech or femme was offline until solid prove was returned. Perhaps that was why he was always the best for moral. Keep the moral up, you couldn't always protect your mechs, but you could give them hope and keep them fighting with all the fire in their sparks that they possessed.

He could not imagine what it was like to be a Prime. With so many duties and burdens, so many had walked before Optimus, and yet here he was leading through a war after coming from the Docks.

Jazz kept the small message from Prowl mentioning how quiet it was at arrival to himself. As far as the TIC was concerned Sideswipe was officially off the roster list and regulated to paperwork. While the cheerful and friendly spy didn't like it just as much as the rest of command that was the cold truth. The official records of off lined designations would be updated much later after Optimus took the time to put his signature on the official statement.

When the message from Prowl came for pick up, Jazz could only wonder how heavy Optimus's spark felt.


	4. 0700

* * *

0700- Meeting Room

* * *

It was short work after they had arrived back at the base, Prowl thought, tapping his data pad. The halls were all deserted with doors locked. Viscid energon drops fell slowly to the ground as they wheeled him into the Med Bay.

After Ratchet has quietly and morosely given the official word that the frame that had once been Sideswipe was offline, no one had broken the quiet that had formed. Ratchet had in all means  _ran_  to Sideswipe. He had been left in the Med Bay staring down in the empty spark chamber loosely gripping his tool.

Around the meeting table now Prowl watched as Red Alert hunched inward on himself slightly. Curiously the Security Director was watching Jazz warily out of the corner of his optic. Such behavior was, in a very terrible way, not uncommon for Red Alert who on a regular basis thought there was some sort of leak. Such was the truth of the Security mech, but he was the finest at his job. What was highly unusual was the pointed ignorance of Jazz who looked at Red Alert shortly only to go back at Prime.

Prowl had no problem processing data. Something was going on between the two officers. Perhaps he would speak with the two of them later if it proved to be a problematic dispute, after he stopped at the Med Bay. He raised an optic ridge as he saw Red Alert inch away from the area of the table Jazz sat.

His attention wavered from them when the door to the room opened. A very subdued Ratchet briskly nodded at Optimus before making his way to his seat. While the tactician had no idea what the complex coding of a medic felt like he was sympathetic for Ratchet as much as he could be. Everyone in command knew how personal Ratchet took the losses that happened. It was quiet for a klik as Wheeljack leaned over to squeeze his friends shoulder.

The creaks that happened when the weight of Optimus was lifted from his rest seemed much louder than usual. Prowl realized how quickly they had gotten used to the usual peace on Earth. Officer's meeting usually had no real weight to them, and many times Jazz had to be told to be quiet and to get his pedes off the table. Instead now, everyone could hear the way their Prime's fingers clicked when they met the table.

"I'm sure some of you are not aware of what has happened this early morning," Optimus paused to look at Wheeljack and Blaster who had up until receiving a notification of an officer's meeting had been in recharge. They looked at their leader questioningly; they had been aware of the level somberness that was blanketing the room as soon as they had entered.

"At about 0200 local time Sideswipe, who had been assigned Patrol Route 4 for punishment detail, had fallen out of communication. Red Alert had ordered him to send his scheduled prior to that was in the progress of writing a report. Around the same time Sunstreaker had an episode in the Rec Room and was rushed to the Med Bay. Prowl and a team of Autobots who were not scheduled for early morning posts went with him." Around the table some of them folded their hands together, understanding coming to them.

"Upon arrival Prowl and Ironhide tracked Sideswipe to his location, which to my understanding included going off the road," here he looked down at the table. He vented heavily before he forced himself to continue. Optimus raised helm and gazed over them all.

"I'm sure you all have become aware of the lock down currently in effect. Every Autobot has been locked inside their room until time where their release would be most opportune. Ordinarily, the return of a comrade would not need such measures, but as you can tell this is no ordinary event. Prowl suggested that it would be best to keep everyone from seeing what had become of Sideswipe, and I was forced to agree."

The years on Earth affected them all for better or worse, it was unavoidable. However the lack of casualties for the span of time they had been on the planet had caused them all to lose some of the normalcy that had taken root. The close knitted and complex community the Ark had become as well was something that they had not even been aware of. While those things were cause of concerns for the crew, the very fact that they had no idea who was responsible ,or what had happened surrounding Sideswipe's fate was something they did not needed spread. It would do no good for morale either to see the broken frame of a brother in arms carted down the hall to the Med Bay.

"However, now that the frame is locked in the storage area of the Med Bay, and that Sunstreaker has already regain consciousness once already, I think it would be acceptable to revoke the lock down." With that Optimus looked at Red Alert, who immediately sent a comm. to Inferno to unlock all the doors.

Ironhide raised a question as the group of Officers listened to doors sliding open outside, "Do you think that really is a good idea?"

Around the table several of the officers looked at each other, the truth that Sideswipe was offline was a surprise to those who did not see him. There was however, no need for a continued lock down if the only reason it was in place had already been fulfilled.

"We do not know why Sideswipe was targeted, or who offlined him. However, there is only one reasonable explanation, and that the Decepticons were behind it. It wasn't one of our own ranks, but we cannot rule anyone out."

Officers who dealt with the crew the most were disgruntled for good reason. What Prime was suggesting was not something they wanted to consider at all. Red Alert looked as if he had intaked the wrong grade of energon. Optimus looked at Ratchet; the medic had a contemplative look on his faceplate.

"Ratchet, do you have something to say?" Soft colored optics watched as one as his oldest friends crossed his arms.

"Yes actually. I know losing Sideswipe is hard, but I need to keep his brother online." The medic tapped one of his fingers against his chest armor as he looked at them all. Medic Programming was difficult to understand for some mechs; the reason was how it buffered mourning and pushed straight through to a new prerogative which most often than not was the next patient. Optimus understood this; several times when Ratchet had gotten over-energized he would contemplate that piece of programming.

"Parts are difficult to get a hold of now here on Earth, and any shipments come few and far between. I request permission to take a few intact parts from Sideswipe to keep for when and if Sunstreaker needs them."

* * *

0700- Rooms

* * *

"I know you're all anxious, but please keep your bets next to you for the time being," Smokescreen smirked, fingers busy pushing the metal sheets that were cards together into one stack. He looked up from where he was shuffling to see a few pairs of optics rolling. Beachcomber laughed, and went to pick up a plain grey coin from where it rolled away from him, near the center of the table.

The gambler took the stack of shuffled cards in a servo and began dealing as he rattled off rules. Tracks groaned as he picked up his cards. The corvette glowered when Bluestreak struggled to bite back a chuckle only for it to come out much louder than expected. Smokescreen's field radiated amusement, watching the two.

The older Praxian in the room continued on, "Wild cards are 3's so five of a kinds are able to happen. Grey coins are 5, blue are 10 and red are 15." He paused, critically looking at Bluestreak, the grey mech who was happily looking at his cards.

Ex-venting, he shook his helm, "No betting for Bluestreak, actually."

"What?" The younger mech looked up, unhappy with the rule. "That's not fair! I'm adult framed already, and you know it! Wait-"

He cut the younger off, "You know that Prowl wouldn't be happy if he found out that I let you bet." Navy blue optics watched Bluestreak as he huffed, but relinquished what coins he had swiped earlier. Smokescreen pretended not to hear a muffled accusation that the coins weren't even worth anything. The rebuff from gambling didn't bother the loquacious mech for long, the steady stream of conversation in the background of Smokescreen's thoughts continued.

He looked around the table as they all picked up their cards. Something wasn't right; it was obvious. Yet, here they were, pretending that nothing was lurking outside their door. Lock downs were not common, not unless something  _sensitive_  was being handled. The lack of presence of Blaster also told a piece of truth, he had been off duty and laughing with them up until a few breems ago.

He registered Tracks folding his hand, and quipped that the blue mech hadn't shuffled well. Preoccupied by the thought of the departure of the only officer that was with them, it was quick for him to surmise that it involved officers. What exactly was going on was another question for the pondering mech. Strangely enough, if it had involved the crew there was no mention of going back to their assigned rooms. They were not the only group of mechs who had opted to go with friends to a room.

If he remembered there was even a group locked in the Rec Room still, something that was not usual when it came to lock downs. Whatever it was wasn't important, or didn't involve, keeping individuals in their separate rooms. It seemed more like, Smokescreen shook his helm while he put a few coins in the betting pile in the center of the table, and he frowned fractionally as that thought froze in the forefront of his mind. It seemed more like they just wanted them all in rooms to prevent them going out.

More questions unraveled in his mind, the questions pecking away at him. His optics flickered over the mechs around the table, pondering what they thought. He vented, raising the bet. Beachcomber smiled, shook his helm, and folded.

Bluestreak perked up; his doorwings shifted higher as he laid down his cards. He looked expectantly at Smokescreen, but frowned slightly.

"Did you even hear what I asked, Smokescreen?" He asked, poking at his cards. As he arranged the cards of his flush in a straight line, the grey mech reiterated his question.

"Why do you think the doors were locked? It's too bad Huffer isn't here. I wonder how the Minibots are doing," he said thoughtfully. He peeked at the door, and his doorwings flickered upon his back.

Smokescreen hummed disinterred with the thought of Huffer. The chronic complainer had gone to the other Minibots who were holed up in the Rec Rom after losing a round of poker a breem or two before the doors locked. Instead, He latched onto the very first question. Perhaps he could form some theory from what he could gather from the other assembled mechs.

"It's very informal from a usual lockdown," he began finally. "Something must have happened."

Tracks looked upwards at the ceiling, and a fraction of exasperation was in his EM field. The corvette had been making previous comments about Huffer, up until he heard the rather bland comment. Smokescreen took that moment to finally lay down his cards. He smirked as collected whatever coins were in the center. Bluestreak groaned in disappointment.

"Of course something happened, Smokescreen," he looked over at his friend, a servo that had been resting on the table lifted into the air. Tracks pointed upwards at the ceiling, his chin resting in the palm of his other servo.

" _Obviously_ , otherwise I wouldn't be cramped in here with you lot. What do you think though, that's the question. Personally I think whatever it is couldn't really garner such a need for a temporary lock down." He looked over at Beachcomber for his input. His very unimpressed look told just what he thought about this whole ordeal clear enough.

The little minibot looked up from the house of cards he had been making when Bluestreak began talking to him. He tilted his helm thoughtfully to the side to think for a klik.

"I don't have a clue, lil' Blue. Sorry. Though, whatever it is isn't going to last long. So maybe we'll find out soon." He shrugged with a soft smile on his faceplate. He turned back to his work, but stopped.

"Maybe it has somethin' to do with the twins?" He shrugged again; continued on with whatever he must have remembered. "Earlier on in the mornin' I heard that Sunstreaker had a freak out in the Rec Room."

Ah-ha! That was what Smokescreen was missing. While, he really didn't have a good idea, at least there might be a probable cause. Maybe it had something to do with a prank that was being planned? He opened his mouth to ask for something more specific when the doors slid open.

His question died there as they all jumped, surprised at the sudden movement. They looked at the open hallway in shock.

"Well, I guess the lock down is over." Bluestreak said, disrupting the quiet that had temporarily fallen. He smiled brightly, and stood from his seat. Silence leaked in from the hallway.

"We should go find Huffer! Do you think we can find out what happened?"

They all looked blankly at each other before they collectively shrugged. Vaguely, Smokescreen thought he heard Tracks mutter about finding Blaster. It wasn't long until they all trickled out of the room, playing cards forgotten, and looking left and right in the chance of seeing anyone else. Bluestreak waved at a group of bots who were talking to each other while they walked past them.

Together they walked down the hallway. Easy conversation floated between them, though it was mostly Bluestreak talking. Dimly, Smokescreen registered when the other Praxian made a comment of Huffer not answering. The dark blue mech was instead watching the vents above them. His audials were picking up faint clangs above.

Nimbly, he tugged Bluestreak until he was next to him. This in turn made the other mech look at him as well as fall quiet. Smokescreen looked at the other three mechs, and pressed a finger to his lip components.

Now, the clangs and bangs registered louder. In the back of his mind, he wondered if the noises were getting closer to them. They stared up at a grate covering above them collectively.

Then all at once, the orange covering smashed open with a sharp bang. Out came a small black form, growling, and hissing all the way. It landed on its four pedes, snapping it's maw at them all; glanced at them warily. Ravage backed up, hissing up at the vent for a moment longer. The Decepticon cassette lowered itself close to the floor, and looked at them once more.

Through all the noise the cassette was making, it was also backing up slowly. The dumbstruck mechs could only watch as the cassette suddenly turned tail and ran as quick as it could away from them. In the flurry of action afterwards, Beachcomber had been the one to alert whoever was on duty that Ravage was in the base.

Later on, Smokescreen would wonder why Ravage had looked at them in pity. Instead, after they recovered from the shock, Bluestreak had tentatively suggested continuing on to the Rec Room. Wherever Ravage was, it was bound to be out of the base already; it was true. No one who was on duty would later report that they hadn't even noticed Ravage sneak out.


End file.
